


The Whispers of the Gold

by Sarah_P42



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Corruption, Family, Gen, In Defense of Thorin Oakenshield, Last Bits of Sanity, THORIN OAKENSHIELD DID NOTHING WRONG, greed - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 09:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_P42/pseuds/Sarah_P42
Summary: Smaug is gone and dead. Erebor is his now. However, Thorin Oakenshield still has one last enemy in his way, and it's far more powerful than a dragon.





	The Whispers of the Gold

The dragon was gone, but Thorin had never felt more surrounded, more on edge than he did standing alone in the room overflowing with the wealth of his people.

His footsteps in the gold echoed menacingly, making his senses jump whenever he took another step. Thorin didn’t know what he had expected to feel when he returned to his home, but it certainly wasn’t this caving feeling in his chest or this terrifyingly strong longing in his heart. It scared him how much he was drawn to the gold, like a moth to a flame, like a mortal man to power.

The mountain was empty, vacant save for his Company, but Thorin heard voices and felt the presence of something greater than a dragon all around him.

Thorin walked through the wealth of his people, the product of countless years of hard work and determination. This… This was his now. He could find the Arkenstone, and become king.

This was the whole point of the journey, right? To reclaim the Lonely Mountain from Smaug and have his people return to their homes. To take back their homeland, and their ancient treasure. That much he still remembered, but the treasure itself played tricks on his mind. He still had awareness and could see through the devious illusions of the stones, but they were persistent. Annoyingly so.

The gold shone like stars, the gems gleamed like the moon. They were so beautiful, so defenseless. Anyone could just take them in that moment.

Thorin continued to stride through the riches. His own footsteps and their respective echoes were the only real noises in the hall, but they seemed to grow louder and louder with every step he took.

There seemed to be a faint whisper coming at him from all directions, all of them almost inaudibly breathing out his name.

_Thorin._

It didn’t make sense, Thorin was all alone in the hall. But he heard whispers nonetheless. He looked around, trying to see if there was in fact someone in there with him. When he was met with loneliness, he grew even more restless.

The whispers all had the same voice. It was an eerily quiet voice, soft and gentle, and it was soothing enough to lull someone to sleep.

Thorin couldn’t block them out. He didn’t know where or who they were coming from, and by all means, he shouldn’t be hearing voices. His kin and Bilbo were elsewhere, looking around the ruins to see if they could salvage anything.

But then why was this voice piercing his ears? Why did it scratch at his mind and murmur sick yet desirable words to him?

It wove its way into his head, and took refuge in the dark corners where only demons and nightmares resided.

At first, the words had been hard to make out. Now, Thorin heard them perfectly.

_Love us. Be with us. Stay with us._

It had the same ring as the sound of the gold beneath his feet. It all suddenly clicked in the uncorrupted spaces in his mind.

Thorin remembered his grandfather, and how the wealth had driven him mad. Had driven him too greedy to think clearly, to think of _anything else_ besides what feasted at his mind. Thror had had an unhealthy obsession with this treasure hoard, a lust so powerful he had risked his life for it. It had held such a hold over him, that Thorin’s grandfather had became a complete stranger to him.

Thorin kept that in mind whenever he thought of this treasure hoard. He had heard the rumours about his family, what others said about him and what they thought of him becoming king.

_A sickness lies over that family._

_He’ll be just like his grandfather._

Those rumours and false accusations had fuelled him with a drive to prove them all wrong, to show that he wasn’t his grandfather.

Thorin was a proud dwarf who loved his kin and cared for his people, not some greedy, ill king too in love with his own treasure to be blind to the suffering of others.

However, the whispers of the cursed gold changed every time Thorin pushed them away. They started to purr, the words becoming sweeter, as if they added more layers of honey and promise.

Thorin did everything he could to ignore the tempting seduction of the gold, to push away its unwanted advances. The stronger parts of his mind had the power of resistance against them, but the darker, much more twistable nooks had a harder time.

The silvery whispers of the treasure played into his darkest desires, the desires that any mortal couldn’t live without. Power, strength, wealth, respect. Thorin was mortal, and couldn’t deny to himself that he lived with these inclinations. However, he had always been noble, and could push them deep down so he could be the better man - or dwarf.

His frustration rose like bile when he saw himself wanting to give into these dark temptations. Thorin’s pride threw up a shield of Mithril between the teases and his lowly pieces of his existence.

Instead, he forced himself to think of other things, other images to drive away the temptations.

Thorin thought of his grandfather, Thror, who had lost himself so much that his inner self died before his body had.

Thorin thought of his father, who had always expected great things of him, and had beamed at him with pride and a father’s love.

Thorin thought of his mother, who had given him the tender love only a mother could give and had seen the world in him.

Thorin thought of his siblings, who admired him as the eldest, and loved him as family closely knit would.

Thorin thought of his nephews, Fili and Kili, who admired him so much that it almost hurt. He loved them so fiercely, and he couldn’t be more proud of them.

Thorin thought of Dwalin and Balin, his brothers not bound by blood, but by a special love that ran deeper. He thought of the Company, the rest of his kin, who trusted him with their lives and their dreams.

Thorin thought of Bilbo, a simple hobbit who had saved and supported Thorin despite not even being related by blood or by time.

These thoughts cleansed the darkness away for the time being, keeping the evil ambitions at bay. The thoughts gave him clarity, and gave him the strength to fight whatever came in his way, whether it be a fire-breathing dragon or a bewitching desire.

Thorin’s footsteps continued to echo through the crowded hall. He climbed higher, higher through the vast sea of gold and bright colours. The pieces shifted beneath his weight, making way for the new king.

The air in the treasure hall, throughout the whole mountain, smelt of dragon and age, but wherever he walked, his own scent resided along with them. Erebor was now his, and no one was there to take it from him. Thorin wanted his scent to be everywhere, as a claim upon this kingdom, and as a warning against those who dared to take it from him.

The gold continued its relentless efforts to sway him, but instead of running out of words to tickle his fancy, it found more powerful ones that captured his attention and threatened to hold him prisoner. It threatened to swallow him whole, leaving nothing left of him besides a deadly greed and a shameful existence.

The more he heard the whispers, the more he realized how defenceless the kingdom was. The front door was gone, only a gaping hole leading to the heart of the mountain. Thorin could tell there were holes in the stone, beneath the earth that led to the unknown.

He screamed in his mind, telling the whispers off and baring his teeth at them. Why couldn’t he fight this? Why couldn’t he destroy this? Why did it drive him mad?

Why was the gold so tenacious?

Why was the gold so tempting?

Thorin grunted in agitation, his sounds of frustration echoing along with his footsteps on the many small coins. The footsteps became faster, the echoes overlapping each other. The whispers brought chains with them, slowly, gently wrapping them around his mind. It wanted control of him, and that realization alone made Thorin rage.

Thorin wouldn’t bow to this _incorporeal thing_. It had taken his grandfather, and if he could, he would kill it to take vengeance. But, in honour of his grandfather instead, Thorin wouldn’t surrender to this loathsome longing. It was beneath him, and as he always did, Thorin had to be above above such lowly desires.

Thorin continued to ward off the invisible attacks, holding onto the shreds of him that gave him decency and rationality, and hoped that it would be enough to finally drive the urges into the blackness of oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been wanting to write LOTR and Hobbit stuff for a while now, and after a long time of making this beast just the way I wanted it, I finally get to share it. Thorin's my favourite Hobbit character, and actually, my favourite character from Tolkien's works in general. I love the complexity the movie brought to his character and he has all the traits my favourite characters have.
> 
> Anyways, I wanted to write a little piece on him just before he lost his mind, since it's my belief that he still had his sanity during the first few days they reclaimed Erebor. 
> 
> I definitelt plan on writing more stuff with him in the future! I love Thorin to death!


End file.
